Arturia and the Dragonborn
by Martenzo
Summary: The Empire is on the cusp of victory in Skyrim. Stormcloak control of the region has been reduced to Windhelm. On the eve of the final battle, Talos sends aid to his battered loyalists. Though the World-Eater blocks the passage to Sovngarde, Talos is able to reach another aferlife of great heroes and summons forth the legendary King of Knights to aid the Stormcloaks.


_**Solitude, Castle Dour**_

With a quiet groan, Ragnar Whitmane, commonly known as the Dragonborn, wakes in the Solitude barracks and begins his usual morning activities. Among his first thoughts, as every morning, is trying to remember what day it is. After a few moments of counting on his fingers, he figures it is Sundas, 18th of Frostfall. A bit early in the morning, though, as he had been awoken by a dull ache in his left arm. A quick and simple healing spell lessened the pain, but nonetheless something felt off in his hand.

_Probably just the cold. _Ragnar dismisses the ache after moving his wrist around a bit and goes on with his business. Though a soldier of the Imperial Legion, the Dragonborn has little in the way of duties at present. Earlier this week, Winterhold had been taken and the Legion was preparing for the final assault against Windhelm. He has seen the city once before and knows the need for preparation. It is among the best-defended cities in Skyrim, on par with the defenses of Solitude. He headed for the war room of Castle Dour and found that it was empty, save for the two guards next to the door who snapped to attention as he passed. Auxiliaries Brugush and Felldir, if Ragnar's memory served him right.

"Where are Tullius and Rikke?" Ragnar asked the guards  
"Out in the field, sir. They departed late last night." the Orc, Brugush answered.  
"Did they tell you where they were headed?" Ragnar continues with his questions.  
"No, sir." Brugush answered.  
"I see. Thank you, soldier." Ragnar nods in response and heads over to the map.

Looking down on it he sighs. The map of Skyrim, representing the land he's fighting for now, on more than oen front. It's been a little more than two month since he'd been in Helgen, his neck on the executioner's block. And the two months that followed were filled with world-shattering revelations. The return of the dragons, him being Dragonborn, his visit to High Hrothgar. Then sneaking into the Thalmor embassy. Leading two of the surviving Blades: Delphine and Esbern, to Sky Haven Temple. The magnificent Alduin's Wall there had certainly been a sight to see. But then efforts to stop the dragons had stalled. Esbern needed time to figure out a way to defeat Alduin. Delphine wanted to restore the Blades. Both of which would take time.

Add to all that a bunch of insane cultists from Solstheim. Defying a Daedric Prince and banishing the Skull of Corruption. And top it all off with Potema's resurrection. For the first time, Ragnar realized the full weight that rested on his shoulders. It seemed that the world was falling apart at every seam and that he was the one destined to hold it together. For a moment, he chuckles at at the irony. The only reason he'd tried to sneak across the border was to join the Companions. Because he wanted to have some fame and glory to his name, instead of being a stablehand with the Vigilants of Stendarr in Cyrodiil for the rest of his life.

And now he was too busy to take the trip to Jorrvaskr and meet with his distant cousin, Kodlak Whitemane.

"Hey, did you hear the news, Brugush?" Felldir asks the orc.  
"About what?" Brugush growls a response to the nord.  
"The Vigilants near Dawnstar. They vampires have attacked the Hall of the Vigilants. No survivors." a note of fear in the nord's voice.  
"Mmh." Brugush grunts, disinterested in the gossip.

The Dragonborn, however, sighs at this grim news. He wanted to doubt the rumor, but in his heart he felt that it was true. Another threat rising in Skyrim that he'd probably have to deal with. He attempts to focus on the map, but the dull ache in his arm and hand returns as the spell he cast earlier wears off.

_I'll need to see a healer about this _Ragnar thinks to himself before turning to the map.

There were new markings on it. General Tullius decided to be conservative, as usual. Plans were to mass the legion at Kynesgrove and Fort Kastav. By the end of the week, the Civil War would be ended once and for all at Windhelm. One crisis ended, Ragnar comforts himself.

_Good thing, too. Winter is already descending on Skyrim. The war would stall for months if we don't take Windhelm now. _The Legate thinks to himself.

Leaving into the courtyard, he sees that he's been reminiscing longer than he thought. Judging by the sun, it's just a little before noon.

And then, without warning, a sharp pain runs through Ragnar's arm. It feels as if his hand is on fire inside his gauntles. He stumbles to take off the armor, but only managed to fall to his knees.

* * *

_**Windhelm, the Temple of Talos**_

The air in the temple, and in all of Windhelm, was filled with tension and gloom. The Sundas service had just ended and people slowly filed out of the temple. Many stayed, most of them Stormcloaks praying for the battle that was ahead. The worst thing on morale was really the waiting. Not the fact that there was a battle ahead, but the fact that nobody was able to rest well because nobody knew when it would come.

Ulfric Stormcloak himself is sitting in the front row, his usual icy mood worse than ever. Galmar Stone-Fist is beside him, his tense face betraying the anger in his heart. Or at least more so than usual. A good ten minutes after the service has ended, Ulfric rises from the bench he is seated on.

The stormcloaks in the room turn to look at their leader. Hoping for an inspiring speech. But there isn't one.  
"Out, all of you." Ulfric demands.  
Most people comply, save for Galmar and the priestess, Jora.  
"You as well." Ulfric turns to them, an angry glare in his eyes. Galmar rises and leaves. Jora does not.  
"I... wish to pray alone" Ulfric says, his voice suddenly weaker. Respectfully, Jora bows and leaves the Jarl alone in the temple.

Ulfric turns to face the statue of Talos and takes a beep breath.  
"Is this your will Talos?" Ulfric demands angrily. "To see me broken and humiliated? To see me fall, even though I defend your name?"

The shouting of the Jarl escalates and five minutes later, he is outright screaming insults at the altar. And nothing happens. Shaking with anger, Ulfric unleashes the power of his Thu'um at the statue and the altar. His anger finally exhausted, Ulfric turns to leave but is stopped when he notices a bright glow behind him. He turns and sees that the shrine is glowing white and throwing out sparks of lightning.

In awe, Ulfric approaches the altar as the display of divine power escalates. But he is unable to get too close. Intense bolts of lightning lash out from the altar, forming a complicated mystical rune on the stone floor of the temple. A thick mist appears from nowhere, obscuring the magical circle and its' contents. Another five minutes later, Ulfric remains stunned before the altar as the display of lightning has died down. Inside the mist, the Jarl can see a figure rising to its' feet. The mist fades, revealing a young girl with fair skin, blue eyes and blonde hair tied in a somewhat complicated bun.

Despite lacking clothes, the girl stand before Ulfric with her back straight and speaks, her voice proud and noble, more so than any woman Ulfric has heard before.  
"Jarl Ulfric, Talos has seen your plight and has sent me to be his champion and your Servant. I will fight at your side, so long as your faith in Talos remains steadfast. I ask of you, are you my Master?"

"I.. Yes. I am." Ulfric stammers at first, but manages to restore his deep and firm leading voice quickly. "But first..."  
Ulfric removes his fur cloak and passes it to the young girl, averting his gaze as much as possible in an effort to preserve her modesty. Looking down at her body, the girl suddenly realizes that she is naked and averts her gaze with a blush. Quickly, she grabs the offered cloak and covers herself with it, clumsy as the cloak might be, being far too big for her.

"But tell me," Ulfric begins "Just who or what are you? And how is it that Talos has made a young lass like you his champion?"  
Composing herself after the initial embarrassment, the girl answers "My name is Arturia Pendragon. What I am is a bit more complicated to explain. I am a heroic spirit. Talos used his divine power to summon me into this world from the Throne of Heroes."  
Noticing the confusion on Ulfric's face, Arturia continues "It is my understanding that the Throne of Heroes is my world's equivalent to Sovngarde. A place where legendary heroes spend their afterlife."

"And how did a young lass like you manage to become a legendary hero, then?" Ulfric asks, raising his eyebrow in doubt.  
"My legend is... a long story." Arturia evades the question, a hint of regret seeping into her eyes  
"I would rather not go into it now that there is a battle to prepare for. But I assure you, I am more than capable in battle." Arturia continues, her face hardening as her worth as a warrior is called into question.  
Realizing something else, Ulfric continues with his questions. "You said you are not of his world. How is it you know of Talos and Sovngarde, then? Not to mention my name."  
"As part of my summoning, Talos infused some amount of knowledge of this Tamriel into my mind, however..." Arturia hesitates, as if unsure about something.  
"Something attempted to interfere with the summoning. Perhaps one of the Daedra Lords. I was meant to be summoned with my legendary weapons and armor, which would have aided our cause greatly." Arturia finishes, apparently embarrased about not being in top condition.

"Hm. Very well, it's not like I'm in a position to turn away aid." Ulfric finally decides "I'm willing to believe what you say, given that I saw the summoning myself, but the people of Skyrim are suspicious of magic at best. When we go outside, there's bound to be gawkers. Just let me do the talking."

Arturia nods and Ulfric pushes open the heavy temple doors, revealing the clear noon sky above Windhelm.

* * *

The painful haze in Ragnar's head fades and his eyes focus. He groans as he tries to move around, his body feeling stiff like he'd been sleeping in armor.  
"Oh! You're awake!" A woman's voice calls out in surprise.  
"How are you feeling?" She asks.  
Ragnar opens his eyes and sees that he's lying on a bench in the Temple of the Divines. He remembers the pain in his arm earlier, now thankfully gone, and responds.  
"I'm fine. What in Oblivion happened?"  
"I'm honestly not sure. You collapsed in the courtyard and Captain Aldis brought you here." The priestess, Silana, explains.  
"I did all that I could, but no amount of restoration magic helped." Hesitant, Silana continues "If it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could remove your armor so I can examine you properly."

Ragnar complies with the healer's request and begins removing his armor.  
"Why didn't you take off my armor when you tried to heal me?" He asks  
"You were thrashing about hard enough that you had to be restrained. I didn't want to risk making matters worse" the healer apologetically explains.

Not long after, Ragnar is in his undergarments as Silana uses her magic to detect injuries or ailments.  
"This is... I don't know.. how can this be?" Silana mumbles. She stops the magic, having gone over most of Ragnar's body.  
"I can detect no trace of injury, disease or poison in your body. It's as if nothing was wrong. I'm afraid I can't explain what caused your pain. After such pain, there should be at least some trace to the cause, but there isn't any."

"Well, the pain seems to have faded." the Dragonborn admits. As he begins putting on his armor again. "Perhaps the matter is settled. Hang on. What's this?"  
Ragnar looks down at his left hand and notices a strange red sigil on the back of his hand, one that was certainly not there before.  
"That? I thought it was a tattoo. It didn't react with any of my spells, at least." Silana says, surprised.

After a more thorough examination of the strange tattoo, Silana is forced to give up. All she can tell for certain, is that it is slightly reducing Ragnar's ability to regenerate magicka. Having some knowledge of restoration magic himself, Ragnar attempts to assist Silana, but soon admits that it is beyond his skill as well.

The medical exmination is finally interrupted by an imperial soldier. A courier, specifically.  
"Dragonborn, I have a letter for you, from General Tullius." the courier informs him, as he presents a sealed letter.

Ragnar takes the letter and breaks the seal and turns his back to the courier and the priestess. Sealed orders like this were usually reserved for important, classified information.

_Legate Whitemane,_

_Fort Amol has fallen. The first assault on Windhelm begins at dawn on Fredas, the 23rd of Frostfall. Your orders are to arrange for as much siege supplies as you can get to Fort Kastav in time, then report to Kynesgrove to lead the assault._

_Destroy this letter when you have memorized your orders. The Stormcloaks must not be allowed to know the exact time of the assault._

_Signed  
General Tullius_

After reading the letter once, Ragnar reads it two more times, to make sure he remembers his orders. He then turns to a nearby brazier and burns the letter.

"Thank you for bringing this to me, soldier. Head to the barracks for some food and rest" Ragnar orders the courier. The soldier salutes and heads off.  
"I'm afraid we'll have to study this strange tattoo some other time, priestess." Ragnar tells Silana.  
"Of course, your duties await." Silana nods in understanding.

Leaving the temple, Ragnar notices that a lot more time has passed than he though. The sun has almost set, which means it's around half past six. He sighs and heads to the barracks to find Captain Aldis to arrange the supplies.

Two hours later, some initial arrangements have been made, though available carriages are another matter. Those would have to wait until tomorrow. Ragnar heads into the Winking Skeever for a good strong mead. Given the troubling day, he decides on a bottle of Blackbriar, instead of the usual Honningbrew.

Not long after, Ragnar is on his back on one of the guest beds of the Winking Skeever, drifting into deep sleep.

* * *

_A strange dream comes to Ragnar. A desolate battlefield, more desolate than any he has seen in this war. Without meaning to, Ragnar looks around himself, and sees that he's supproting himself on a sword, and she is surrounded by fallen soldiers. He also notices some unfamiliar lumps on... her chest? A strange dream to be sure._

_Judging by the sword that's in his/her stomach almost to its' guard, he/she is not long for this world._

_Suddenly Ragnar lifts his/her eyes to the sky and speaks, though he/she does not understand the words, he recognizes the tone of a prayer. Then he realizes that this is no ordinary dream. In fact, this feels quite similar to the Dreamstride he experienced a month ago._

* * *

Ragnar calmly wakes up from the strange dream. At least the dream, though somewhat morbid, was not a nightmare. Looking out the window, Ragnar sees that it's still night outside. Looking at his left hand in the dark, he notices that the red symbol actually glows slightly.  
_Damn it. Is this Varmina's way of getting back at me?_ He thinks.  
_"Gods damn it all..." _Ragnar quitely whispers to himself before falling asleep once again.

The next morning, he pays a visit to Elisif's court mage, Sybille Stentor. The woman is strangely intimidating, certainly, but Ragnar believes that she is sure to be more knowledgeable than the priestess. He regrets his decision as soon as he sees the mage's hungry smile as she agrees to study the sigil.

After three hours of (thankfully painless) experiments, Sybille admits that she has never seen or heard of anything like it before. She is also very frighteningly excited about this. Still, a bit more was revealed about the symbol. First, it probably has something to do with conjuration and/or daedra. Second, aside from the slight magicka drain, the symbol is extremely inert from a magical standpoint. Third, and most disappointing to Ragnar, Sybille hypothesizes that it cannot be removed except by cutting off the entire hand. And Ragnar can tell that Sybille would be happy to do just that, if she only had Ragnar's permission.

Thankfully, the mage allows him to leave after making a detailed drawing of the tattoo for her research. After all the disturbing comments he heard from the mage, Ragnar is actually thankful that there's a battle to prepare for.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, here's the first chapter of my second major story after Hidden Depths. A crossover of Fate/Stay Night and The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Truth be told, I'm not entirely with Arturia's summoning scene turned out. Mainly how receptive Ulfric was to get explanations. But I also don't have any idea on how to improve it, so I left it as it is. If you want to ask me why I'm not writing Hidden Depths, then the reason is simple. The plot-bunnies of other stories (this one and my third major story idea, a Star Wars crossover) keep gnawing at my brain and whenever I turn to write Hidden Depths, my thoughts wander away to other stories.

A warning, as well. The portrayal of Skyrim is based on my modded version of Skyrim, not the Vanilla version. The mods of particular note are:  
All DLCs  
All Unofficial Patches  
Requiem – The Roleplaying Overhaul  
Ultimate Follower Overhaul  
aMidianborn Skyforge Weapons

There are also a number of weather and water enhancers which have no effect on gameplay. Additionally, I'm making a number of scale modifications to increase the population of Skyrim. There are only at most 1500 people in Skyrim, even counting all the unnamed bandits, rogue mages and forsworn. Even so, the scale will be smaller than a fully realistic world would have. The numbers I have come up with for the time being are as follows:  
Current Legion Strength in Skyrim: ~1200 soldiers  
Current Stormcloak Strength: ~500 soldiers  
Current Total Legion Strength: ~15 000 soldiers  
Legion Strength before Great War: ~40 000 soldiers  
Aldmeri Dominion Military before Great War: ~35 000 soldiers (includes conscripted 'lesser' races)  
Total Population of Skyrim: ~17 000 (includes children and outlaws)  
Total Population of Tamriel: ~300 000 (as above, and includes Aldmeri Dominion)

The current strength of the Dominion is deliberately not in this list. At any rate, I'm quite happy to see reviews discussing the demographics of Skyrim and Tamriel, and wouldn't be opposed to including good ideas in this.

Oh, and if there are any artists inspired by this story, then I'd be really happy to see the Dragonborn's command seal drawn. No idea what it actually looks like, though. Maybe includes the daedric Oblivion symbol? I'd try drawing something myself... but I'm fully aware that I can't even draw stick figures well enough to make them look decent.


End file.
